An Itch and a Scratch
by JamesLuver
Summary: Bob's arrival home from the conference takes her by surprise, in more ways than one.


**A/N:** Here, have some fluff.

The rating is for safety purposes more than anything else as I'm never sure of the boundaries and my own opinions are completely skewiff for various reasons, but read at your own risk nevertheless.

Thank you to the people who helped me bounce around bits about Bob's invulnerability. It's not perfect but I'm gonna have to roll with it.

I apologise for the length.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own _The Incredibles_.

* * *

Bob's arrival home from the conference takes her by surprise, in more ways than one. She's out watering the garden when he returns, and he sneaks up on her like some lithe jungle animal—a panther or a lion, filled with self-confidence and a sense of achievement. He wraps her up in his arms with fierce enthusiasm and takes her mouth with gusto, and Helen can't help simply melting into the kiss once her momentary shock has passed. His mouth is so soft and eager, and she wraps her arms around his neck, the spray of the hosepipe pattering down around them. Bob yelps and pulls away as the spray goes down his back, then begins laughing.

"God, I missed you," he says.

"I missed you too, honey," says Helen, her heart swelling as she throws the hosepipe down, where it continues to sputter. It's true. It's been years since she last had the bed to herself, and in these last couple of days it's felt far too big, the sheets yawning around her, cold and uninviting. She never sleeps more soundly than when Bob's comforting bulk is pressed against her, strong and reassuring. "How was your trip?"

Bob's eyes dance with pride. "It was great, honey. Really, really great. I've got a good feeling about it."

Helen is so glad to hear this; Bob has never been settled in a job, and she hates to see him unhappy and downtrodden. It's not what he wants to do, she knows that, but the fact that he's stuck at it and worked hard to bring home a solid income for their family means a lot, and now that he's finally getting recognised and rewarded for his patience she hopes that it will spur him on to do even better. Perhaps it will even be enough for him to put the police scanners and the false bowling nights behind him. She understands how he feels more than she can say, but those feelings have to stay buried deep inside. What lessons would they be teaching their children otherwise? Bob's reticence already encourages Dash to play up. Violet is silent and moody, torn in half by two conflicting worlds. Helen has to stay strong, otherwise the whole thing would collapse in on itself, and she can't let that happen. Not to her family, to those she treasures above everything else.

"So, what did you get up to?" she asks, running her fingers down the front of his shirt.

"Oh, just insurance stuff," Bob says airily. "You know how dull it all is, I wouldn't want to bore you with the details. It was all I could do not to fall asleep sometimes."

"Well, do you think there might be more opportunities coming up in the future?"

"I hope so," says Bob, grinning. "That would be perfect. But right now there's only one thing I want."

"Hmm?"

His grin turns decidedly lecherous, and Helen feels it right in the pit of her stomach. "You."

Before she can even react he's hoisted her clean up into his arms, slinging her over one massive shoulder in a parody of a fireman's lift, effortless and graceful.

"Bob, what are you doing?" she gasps, scrabbling at his shoulders so that she can look down at him.

"Carrying you up to bed," he answers with a wink.

"Someone will see us!" she hisses, glancing about the pristine neighbourhood. They have their fair share of curtain-twitchers here, and that little boy, Rusty, has started watching their house as if he expects something out of the ordinary to happen. The last thing Helen wants is for them to inadvertently reveal themselves to the neighbours. It's one thing to get exposed through some act of heroism, as is Bob's exasperating remit, but it would be a whole new level of shame to get found out because they forgot themselves on the front lawn.

Bob, naturally, is unconcerned, waving his spare hand dismissively. "Honey, you weigh less than a feather. I don't think anyone would be surprised that I can carry you like this. Have you seen the size of me?"

"Even so," she utters, casting a surreptitious look around. "We've got to be careful!"

"All right, all right," he says, but he doesn't put her down. Instead, he hitches her more firmly over his shoulder—she fights down the urge to squeal—and marches towards the house, detouring only to switch off the hosepipe. Once they're over the threshold, he shoves the door closed with his elbow, with so much inadvertent force that it shakes in its frame.

"Bob!" Helen scolds him. "Do you _have_ to make it seem like there's an earthquake going off inside the house!?"

He tilts his head, still grinning. "Have I ever told you how attractive you are when you're angry?"

"Don't change the subject!" she says, socking him in the shoulder, but the heat rises to her face, giving her away. She doesn't know what's come over him, but his outrageously flirty behaviour is not unwelcome. It's…exciting. The silent admission makes her blush harder, and Bob's eyes darken a hue as he stares up at her.

"Are you sure you really want to talk about something as trivial as a door rattling in its hinges?" he asks, his voice a throaty growl which goes right through her.

"It's important," she manages, avoiding the question. "We can't blow cover again…"

Bob hums, turning them slowly, until he's pressing her against the wall. "Yeah, yeah, it's important. But is it as important as this?"

And with that he's kissing her, hard, his huge bulking frame everywhere against her. The wall pressing into her back is rather uncomfortable against her shoulder blades, but Helen can't bring herself to care. Not at that moment. Not when he's kissing her as if he's been gone for a year, as if it's the last time that he ever will. It's like a scene from a ridiculous movie, but she melts into it anyway, despite herself, her mouth opening beneath his to let him have his way. Her fingers wind through the hair at the back of his head, scratching at his scalp, and he grunts, pressing further into her. The heat is rising within her, threatening to spill over, and she's grappling with his t-shirt before she even realises what she's doing, her arms extending and tugging urgently on the hem, dragging it up his back. Bob pulls away from her just enough that he can speak, his mouth still brushing against hers as his hot breath hits her.

"Where's Jack-Jack?" he murmurs.

"Down for his nap," she breathes. "He went out like a light, shouldn't be up for at least a couple of hours."

Bob's eyes are the colour of sapphire in the afternoon light, darkened with desire. Electricity bolts through her, and she squeezes her thighs around his hips, pressing against him.

"So we're not gonna be disturbed?"

Helen's mouth quirks. "God, I hope not."

Growling, Bob throws her back over his shoulder; she bites her tongue, hyper-aware that any loud noise might wake Jack-Jack and derail her husband's plans. There's something very wicked about doing this in the middle of the day when the other bored suburban moms are pottering about their houses looking for things to do, but it only makes the heat coil more pronouncedly through Helen's belly. At one time, during the glory days, it hadn't been unusual at all for them to be ripping each other's clothes off in the middle of the afternoon, but the world has changed a lot since then and so have they. They have responsibilities now, a whole other reality that Helen wouldn't change for the world, not even to have the glory days back. She isn't always sure that Bob feels the same way, but this is the happiest she's seen him in a long time and she isn't going to spoil it by questioning him. The stairs creak as he mounts them two at a time, and Helen's heart thumps hard in her chest as he ducks down beneath the doorframe into their bedroom. The bed seems huge in the space, drawing the eye, and she knows that it's only a matter of minutes before they end up there together, tangling and fighting for dominance like they had in the old days. The thought of it makes her tremble.

Bob slides her back to the floor and she makes her first power play, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt and yanking him down to her level, pressing her mouth to his once more. He makes a delicious sound in the back of his throat, his hands curling low over her hips, anchoring himself there. She nips at his lower lip as her body moves up against his, melding to his like memory foam. She can feel all of him this way, and more heat surges through her. It's not just about desire anymore. It's about primal need, on following everything on pure instinct, a ravenous hunger that consumes. Their sex is always good, but it's been a long time since she's felt like this, like she is burning up from the inside, like she will combust if she doesn't get her hands on her husband's body. Biting a little harder at his lip, she scrabbles around until she finds the hem of his t-shirt, attempting to haul it up between them whilst they're still joined. Bob pulls away with a husky chuckle that goes right through her.

"I'm not sure that's gonna work, honey," he murmurs, brushing his lips against her temple. "You're gonna have to let me go for that."

She grits her teeth, glaring up at him; right now, she's not in the mood for playful banter. Words can come later, after they've let their bodies do the natural talking. Bob's smirk only widens.

"Oh, honey," he coos, his hands sliding down to her ass and giving it a playful swat, "is it hard for you?"

Helen scowls at him; she despises losing any kind of duel to him. Verbal sparring with him has always turned her on as much as any of his actions might, but she does not want to be the loser in any sense. Two can play at his game. She extricates one of her hands between them.

"It's not for me," she pants. "But I think all the evidence suggests it is for you."

Bob blushes. Victory.

She only has a second to savour it before he's propelling them backwards, moving them towards the bed. Helen stumbles and avoids falling flat on her ass only because she's still anchored in Bob's arms. When her knees hit it she tumbles backwards, Bob's not inconsiderable weight following her and leaving her a little winded. The bed creaks threateningly.

"Don't break the bed!" she tells him, alarmed.

He only smirks at her. "It wouldn't be the first time."

That's very true; they'd broken the bed in their first cheap apartment, not able to afford anything else. They'd had some serious explaining to do to the hotel management on their honeymoon, which had been mortifying. They've learned their lesson since then and have always gone with the sturdiest thing that they can find, but even that hasn't always served them well—if Bob doesn't show restraint then their furniture pays the price.

"Vi and Dash are old enough to ask questions now," Helen points out. "Do you really wanna have that conversation with your kids?" _She_ certainly doesn't. It had been bad enough telling them that she was pregnant with Jack-Jack. Dash had loudly and persistently pestered them about how babies were made for a full week, which had almost driven them to despair wondering how they could explain things without scarring a nine-year-old for life. Violet had not uttered a word, but when Helen had taken her aside and asked her if there was anything she wanted to know, she'd flushed scarlet and shaken her head violently, which had made her wonder just what she might have heard from some of the boys at school. She'd never be able to look them in the eyes again if she had to tell them that they'd broken the bed. Vi knows what she needs to know—she'd squirmed her way through a mother-daughter conversation once Helen had found out about that Tony—and she can't take more exuberant questioning from Dash, who is both too young and far too immature to handle the truth.

Bob shudders. "Okay, you have a point."

"Don't I always?" Helen says. She shuffles back, her hands going to the buckle on his belt. "Now, stop talking and kiss me again."

His lips curve deliciously over hers as he proceeds to do just that. His fingers rake through her hair, kneading at the back of her neck. Helen knows that he still misses her long hair, which he had adored running his fingers through back in the old days. She sometimes misses it too; there had been nothing on earth more peaceful than lying there with him, letting his heartbeat lull her whilst his fingers slowly meandered through her hair and massaged her scalp. But long hair is not practical when she spends all day, every day chasing around after her family and, in a way, cutting it off had symbolised her cutting ties with her Super alter ego. Long hair had been for Elastigirl, tough and sassy and overconfident. Helen Parr is a different sort of hero, an underrated one, and she has to have other practical powers besides being flexible.

Even as dextrous as she is, she struggles to get the button on Bob's pants open, her fingers clumsy with her need as he kisses her breathless. He pulls away when she tries to tug them down, however, stumbling away from the bed to discard them. She takes the opportunity to wiggle out of her own, the temperature rising several more degrees at the hungry look in her husband's eyes. He's back with her moments later, surprisingly agile for a man of his size, his eager fingers going to her blouse.

"Let me help you," he says huskily, and she leans back on her elbows, casting him a cocky smirk. Well, she isn't going to object to that. She's always loved his attempts to undress her, and especially when he gets so worked up that it takes him agonising _minutes_ to work his way through something as simple as a few buttons. There's just something so sexy about knowing that she can bring him to that state, that even after more than fifteen years of knowing each other intimately she can still reduce him to the frustrated young man he had once been, so impatient and eager to have her.

The smirk slips off her face when, with an ominous ripping sound, her blouse…falls apart.

" _Bob!"_ she yelps, and he blinks at her, flushing crimson.

"Damn!" he says. "That wasn't supposed to happen!" He blinks, dumbfounded, as if he isn't quite sure how he's managed to rip several of the buttons off her blouse.

Damn indeed. Sometimes his super strength really is a liability.

"I can't believe you ripped it!" she grumbles, swatting his hands away and unbuttoning the few buttons that escaped unscathed.

"I'm sorry!" he says, rubbing at his forehead. "I didn't realise I was being so…enthusiastic."

"That's not the word I'd use," Helen mutters, balling the material up and launching it over Bob's head. "Give me the buttons. I'll have to see if I can fix it later."

Wordlessly, he hands them over; she notices that his eyes have strayed unashamedly to her cleavage, promoted impertinently by her brassiere. She rolls her eyes, stretching backwards to place them on the set of drawers.

"Don't just sit there admiring the view," she drawls. "Get your shirt off before I change my mind."

He leaps into action with a speed that would amuse her if her heart wasn't fluttering in anticipation. Even so many years later she still feels exactly the same way when he undresses. He's put on weight, sure, but none of that matters to her. He's still Bob to her, and when he stretches up to yank his t-shirt up, his muscles ripple in that delicious way, and she simply has to lean back and enjoy the performance, biting at her lip as her stomach clenches in anticipation…

Bob throws the shirt over his shoulder without checking to see where it's going—it narrowly misses hitting the TV—and the bed creaks again as he shifts his weight to move over her, pinning her helplessly beneath him. Grinning, Helen presses her palm against his bulging bicep, feeling the huge muscles twitching beneath her touch…

…And feeling something else too. Something…rough.

The sensation is so unexpected that she has to pull her hand away, frowning, her eyes immediately going to investigate the source of the discrepancy.

She gasps, pushing at his chest, using her flexibility to slip away from him with ease. Bob grunts, shooting her an admonishing look.

"Do you have to keep stopping?" he asks sulkily. "I'm trying to be romantic."

Helen ignores him. Her heart has started pounding hard for an entirely different reason.

"What did you do?" she asks shakily.

Bob furrows his brows. "What did I do? Honey, what are you talking about?" There's a wary look about him.

She gestures to his arm. "You hurt yourself."

He starts, glancing automatically at his left bicep, where there's the proof of an injury. It's no longer than her index finger, true, and pinking around the edges in the way that suggests it will scab over, but it's there all the same.

"Oh," he says. "Oh, I never even noticed that."

Helen kneels on the mattress, ignoring the fact that she's wearing next to nothing. "How can you not have noticed!?"

"I don't know!" he shoots back. "You know what it's like, things bounce off me. I barely feel them."

And that's the thing. Bob's superpowers mean that he is almost indestructible. Things that hurt ordinary people—hell, hurt _her_ —bounce right off him. She's seen him escape from a shower of bullets with nothing more innocuous than bruises. After battles with villains in the glory days, she had always emerged from saving the day much more beat up than he ever did. He'd bruise, strain muscles, ache all over, but he never really bled.

"You were bleeding and you never even noticed?" she says, and there's a definite accusatory tone to her voice that she can't disguise.

"Yeah," Bob says defensively. "I don't know how it could have happened."

Helen doesn't buy that. Not at all. Being cut hurts. He's not impervious to pain. There's something he's not telling her, and experience tells her that any lies or deliberate evasions point in one direction.

"You've been doing stupid heroic things again, haven't you?" she says quietly.

Bob freezes. "What?"

Helen's heart sinks faster than a stone; it's almost all the confirmation she needs. "You heard me." She clenches her fists, trying to keep her voice steady, even though all she wants to do is scream. "What do you expect?"

"I expect my wife to trust me," he says harshly.

"And I expect my husband not to betray the trust I put in him time and time again," she snaps, swelling unconsciously in her ire. Really, they probably look utterly ridiculous, glaring at each other from opposite sides of the mattress, each of them down to their underwear. They were supposed to be having a nice time. A _good_ time. How can they descend into another shouting match after the dizzying joys of a few moments ago?

It's the absurdity of the situation that forces her to take a deep breath to control her temper. She does not want this to go the same way. She does not want a perfectly wonderful afternoon to end abruptly, with more loaded silence.

"I'm sorry," she says. "That was a low blow."

"Just a bit," Bob mutters, but the words seem to have hit home and have deflated his own sharpness. He rubs the back of his neck, leaning against the headboard. "Look, I might know how I hurt myself, but it wasn't doing hero work, I swear."

Is that a flash of guilt? It's gone before Helen can scrutinise it more closely, and she makes the decision to give him the benefit of the doubt. Isn't that what marriage is all about? Trust, love, stability? She loves Bob so much. She _wants_ to trust him in all aspects of their marriage. There's nothing she's more desperate for than the stability of her precious family. Trusting that he's doing the right thing is the best thing for both of the other points.

"Okay," she says, scooting closer so that she's sitting beside him. "What happened?"

Bob rubs at his chin, giving her a sheepish look. "Just promise you won't get mad."

"How can I promise I won't get mad if I don't know what I'm not supposed to get mad at?" Helen retorts, but her tongue is firmly in cheek. She can feel the last of her anger melting away under that darn puppy-dog gaze.

"I was at the conference with all of these other insurance types," he says. "You know the kind, the big city-slickers. And I just felt so…out of place amongst them, I guess. They were so neat and good-looking and clever…and then there was me."

"Bob," Helen says softly, reaching out to touch his forearm. "Don't say that."

He shrugs his colossal shoulders. "It's the truth, isn't it? Neither of us thought that this big break would come."

"I did," she says loyally, and feels her own nasty stab of guilt. Because she hadn't. Bob had never seemed engaged or interested in the work he was doing, and she'd thought that they were destined to plod along as they were. She would have been happy with that, if she wasn't constantly worrying about how disenchanted he seemed with his whole life.

"I felt out of place, Helen," he says. "And I caught a look at myself in the hotel mirror and it just…hit me how much I've let myself go. I mean, look at me." He gestures down his massive body. "I'm hardly the Mr. Incredible of the glory days, am I?"

"That's not who I want you to be," Helen says stoutly. "I want you to be Bob Parr, family man and husband…and I couldn't care less what shape you are."

"But I've changed so much…"

"So?" she counters. "You've not changed here, have you?" She taps the place where his heart lies. "This is what's important, Bob. This is what makes me love you."

"It wasn't what attracted you in the first place, though, was it?"

Helen huffs. "Oh, come on, I was a young girl in my twenties, that's hardly fair. It was your heart that kept me, you know."

Bob manages a half-smile. "Well, either way, I decided that I wanted to…start doing something about it. I want to feel good about myself again. And getting in shape…feeling more like the old Mr. Incredible even if I can't be him anymore…that would help me."

Helen isn't so sure, but she keeps her own counsel for now. She doesn't want that to be yet another thing for her to worry about, having a Bob brimming with self-confidence and even more eager to get out there to moonlight at hero work. But he is her husband, and they have been each other's ports in the multiple storms that have tried to take them down, and she has to support him in this. Who knows? Perhaps it _would_ do him some good. Give him something to focus his excess energy on, give him a _purpose_. That can only be good, right?

"I just don't want to be a disappointment to you."

She blinks up at him. "Honey, _no_. You could never be a disappointment to me." Well, that isn't necessarily true, and they both know it—she is bitterly disappointed in him whenever he goes out and does something stupid. But it hasn't coloured the way she feels about him, or changed anything in their marriage. And she would certainly never be disappointed in his _physicality_ —she's not shallow. He's the man who she grew up with, learned about the true hero work in life with, built a legacy with. The years have made him more attractive to her, whatever the cynics might say.

" _You've_ hardly changed at all," he pouts. "And I know that you're not even morphing yourself that way. You're just enviably beautiful."

"Hey, I don't always feel it," she says, leaning back against the headboard too.

"Are you serious?" Bob sounds genuinely nonplussed, and her insides clench pleasantly. It's nice, to have a man who doesn't seem to have noticed that biology has caught up with her too. Plenty of the other housewives on this street bemoan their husband's niggling little comments about their weight.

"I can't seem to shift the baby weight I gained with Jack-Jack," she points out.

"You look great with it," he murmurs. "Very sexy." He reaches out to wrap his arm around her and pull her snug to his side, giving her thigh a firm squeeze in appreciation.

"Bob!" she says, fighting to keep the pleased note out of her voice. He's giving her that sultry look, the one that she's never been able to resist. She forces herself to look away, knowing that if she doesn't she'll only succumb to his advances and the rest of this discussion will go out the window. "Stop trying to flatter me out of this conversation."

"Well, I'm sorry for having romantic plans for the afternoon," he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

"We'll get on to those romantic plans in good time," says Helen, elbowing him in the side. "Right now you've got a story to finish. Then I'll decide how cross I am with you and how the afternoon should unfold from there."

"Great," Bob mutters. "I might as well get my clothes back on now." He grunts in response to the second elbow in his side, and she glowers up at him for good measure. "Okay, okay. So I was looking at myself in the mirror and I decided that I want to do something about it. So I…went out looking for somewhere I could go to train. You know regular gyms are useless because the equipment there is like lifting feathers, and I didn't want to run the risk of breaking anything and having to answer awkward questions. There was this old junkyard not too far away, so I slipped in there. There was some pretty heavy machinery in there and I caught myself on the edge of one when I was rolling out from under it."

Helen scrunches her nose. That…does not sound very likely. She can't think of a single thing that might be able to injure Bob in that way. She remembers the barbeque in one of their first neighbourhoods not long after Violet's birth, when he hadn't been paying attention to what he'd been doing and had slammed the carving knife down over his fingers. There hadn't even been a bruise. So how can something have injured him?

Her scepticism must be showing on her face, for Bob puffs out his chest. "You don't believe me?"

In for a penny, in for a pound. "It's not that I don't believe you, it's just…I just didn't expect something so everyday to hurt you."

"Well, maybe it's the effects of time. My back plays up constantly, you know that. Maybe my skin isn't as thick as it was when I was twenty-five. I can't explain it or account for it."

Helen chews her lip. He does have a point with his back. But the rest…does it really sound believable?

No. But does she want to open that particular can of worms right now?

The answer is still no. Not right now, not when they're happy.

"Believe me, Helen." Bob's eyes are beseeching. "I'm not lying to you. That's how I hurt myself."

Marriage is about trust.

"I believe you," she says, pushing her disquiet to the back of her mind for now.

Bob looks relieved, moving to squeeze her hand in gratitude. "Look, I know it was stupid and dangerous. I won't do it again. It was just one moment of weakness, honey, I promise."

How many times has she heard those words? They become so hollow after a while. Helen tugs her fingers through her hair, determined to keep her temper. "Okay. And I don't blame you if you want to get in shape. But you know how important it is that we don't get exposed again. We need to give the kids some consistency. Violet needs to be given the chance to make good friends and grow in confidence. Dash needs guidance that will keep him away from trouble. And Jack-Jack…"

"Jack-Jack? What's wrong with Jack-Jack?"

"Well, okay, Jack-Jack is the least of our worries right now, but we still have to provide strong foundations for him, and we'll have to work hard to make sure that he never feels left out."

"Why should he feel left out?"

"He's the only normal one in the family, Bob. We don't want him to think that he's somehow less than Violet and Dash, or that we don't love him as much."

Bob sputters. "We'd _never_ let him feel that way!"

"I know. But we need to make sure that we have a secure home for all of them, don't you see? We're not helping them by causing them more upheaval every few years, and we don't want them resenting us for it. We've got to be responsible now. Look, I get that you miss the glory days. I _do_. Don't you think I feel exactly the same way sometimes, too? I hadn't planned on being a mom of three. Hell, I hadn't even planned on getting married so early."

"Oh, gee, thanks," says Bob. She stretches slightly so that she can nestle her head into the crook of his thick neck, pressing a kiss there.

"Don't get pouty, honey," she murmurs. "That's the point. Life is full of surprises. You were one of them for me. A _great_ one. And even though we never could have seen it coming that Supers would be outlawed, it's not been all bad."

"No," he concedes, "it hasn't."

"I know you've found it so frustrating to do these menial jobs when you just want to help people, but something great has come out of all the bad, and that's our family. I know you wouldn't change it for anything in the world." Or, at least she hopes he wouldn't. His disinterest in their little unit frightens her so much sometimes, in the darkness. She doesn't doubt that he loves them, but it's hard to stand by and watch while he puts his desire for the glory days above their happiness. Their blazing rows on the subject have made her wonder if they're doing the right thing, sometimes, staying together. But even just having that thought feels like a betrayal of the highest order, and Helen Truax was never a quitter. Her surname might have changed, but that doesn't mean she has. She fixes things. That's what she's good at. She's always been good at it. And she knows that there has to be a way to fix the rough patches in their marriage. It's enduring. What they have is great, the best, and it's worth weathering the choppy waters. In the end, she stays because she loves him, because the kids love him, because they're better as a family.

"I wouldn't change any of it," he agrees, shifting. "Look, honey, I'm going to do better in the future, I swear. From now on I'm gonna make more of an effort to be there for the kids. You were right, you know. I _am_ missing the important things and I don't want to any longer. Things are gonna be different, you'll see."

His eyes shine with love and determination. Helen smiles. She doesn't know whether she believes him or not, whether he's just high on a successful trip, but his boyish eagerness is adorable, and she wants him to stick to his word so badly.

Rolling away from him, she bends her arms around her back so that she can unclip her brassiere. Bob's eyes widen at the movement and he swallows hard, his gaze falling to her full breasts as the material falls away. She smirks at him.

"I think we've done enough talking for now," she says. "Get the rest of your clothes off…Mr. Incredible."

Bob winks at her, immediately obeying her orders. Helen finishes her own undressing with style—thank _God_ that her powers of flexibility make the most awkward of tasks so sensual—and flops back down, grinning, as Bob completes the task with a lot less elegance. He's amiable enough not to be embarrassed by it, his gaze roving over her lazily as she lounges there.

"Hop on, cowgirl," he says, patting his lap, affecting a terrible southern drawl that sounds nothing like she does, and she cringes.

"Don't do that again," she says, sliding over him gracefully anyway. She's always loved being in this position over him, dominating him. They'd chopped and changed a lot during the glory days, almost _fighting_ between the sheets, and nothing had ever been more arousing than that. These days Bob's girth means that she gets to be here most of the time, but they're both experienced enough to spice things up and keep things fresh. It's just another thing that Helen loves about him. Whatever else might be mundane in their civilian life, _this_ certainly isn't.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" she purrs, leaning down to nip at his bottom lip. Bob kisses her back fiercely, and she revels in her victory over him.

Or so she thinks.

Bob pulls away from her, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone.

"The question is," he says, his voice a low, predatory growl, "are _you_ ready for this, Helen?"

Before she can open her mouth to retort, his hands grab her ass roughly as he pulls her up his body with ease, and all other sassy retorts are lost in the pleasure.

* * *

Trembling, Helen slumps to the side, her whole body almost disappearing into the mattress. She pants hard for breath, her heart hammering against her ribcage. Good _God_.

Beside her, Bob manages to kick the comforter to the end of the bed, swearing breathlessly. His chest is sheened in sweat, and he runs a shaking hand through his hair, pushing it away from his perspiring forehead. He slumps back down beside her with a hefty thud that makes the bedsprings groan. For a long moment there is silence between them, and Helen lets her eyes slip closed, concentrating on the heavy cadence of their breathing as she tries to get herself back under control. Presently, Bob shifts, and she cracks an eye back open to find him twisting to look at her, self-satisfaction alive in his expression.

"What?" she asks.

"You've gone all melty," he says, sounding very pleased with himself. If she had more energy, Helen would reach out to swipe at him, but her current boneless state means that it would be very difficult to get her arms to stretch.

"Don't let it stroke your ego too much," she settles for muttering instead.

"Oh, but it does," Bob replies, stretching to pillow his right arm behind his head. "It fills me with a lot of satisfaction to bring you to that state. Means I did a very, _very_ good job."

Helen scowls at him, cursing the betrayal of her body. He's right, of course. But they've always enjoyed a fight for dominance, and she doesn't like him to win too easily.

Unfortunately, he frequently does. And though it's a delicious reward for her body, it bruises her ego somewhat horribly.

The first time it had happened had taken her completely by surprise. Bob hadn't been her first lover, and she'd been fairly confident in her experiences, a direct contrast to him, who had spent years holding on to fears and anxieties about how his super strength, such a blessing in the line of hero work, was actually a curse to his personal life. He was arrogant and self-assured as Mr. Incredible, but despite the legion of female fans who had been desperate to warm his bed, he'd steered well clear of anything more than harmless flirting. He'd kept her at arm's length in that regard for a little while too, until she'd convinced him that, flexible as she was, she would not break under inadvertent strength but would only be what he needed her to be. She'd seen herself as the teacher, guiding him, encouraging him to follow the things that felt right to him, that felt so _good_ to her. Out in the field, they were equal rivals, but _here_ she had felt like she had the upper hand over him, and it had been a heady aphrodisiac.

But after a few weeks of enthusiastic practice, she was the one who had ended up surprised.

Bob's confidence in that department had come on in leaps and bounds, and he was in an especially eager mood, kissing her in all of the places that made her quiver and using the strength he possessed to manipulate her masterfully, taking her to heights she hadn't even known could exist. It was only afterwards, sheened with sweat and panting for breath, that she'd realised that she couldn't move; her whole body had gone _boneless_.

Bob, of course, had started to panic almost immediately upon realising that she wasn't moving the way she was supposed to be moving. The whole bed frame had creaked threateningly as he'd bolted upright, eyes wide, the relaxed elation of just a few moments earlier completely evaporating.

"Elastigirl?" he'd said frantically, shaking her shoulder a little more roughly than he would have under normal circumstances. "Elastigirl, are you okay!?"

"Yeah," she'd replied, too stunned to formulate anything else.

"You don't look it," he'd retorted, anguished. "Why are you all floppy? I hurt you, didn't I? I knew it. I _knew_ this was a bad idea. I should never have—"

" _Incredible,"_ she'd snapped. "Honestly, it's fine. It's happened to me before."

He'd blinked at her, uncertain. "What? You mean…?"

"Not…not here," she'd said quickly, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. "But a guy I was chasing a few months ago pulled out a cattle prod on me and when he attacked me with it, it kind of…zapped all the rigidity out of my bones, I guess. I can't explain why."

Bob's eyes were still worried. "But you were in pain."

"Then, yes. But this isn't pain." She'd huffed, scrunching up her nose. It had been the very last thing she had wanted to admit aloud, but her own pride had to be pushed to the side for the sake of Bob's fragile self-esteem. "It's the very opposite. It felt really good…and I guess that this is my body's reaction to that."

He'd blinked at her. "So…everything's okay?"

"Yeah," she'd exhaled. If she was truly honest with herself, it hadn't been…but that was because it terrified her. She would never voice that aloud, but it had. That sex could do that to her too…well, it had been alarming. In a world that was still dominated by men, Helen hated showing any kind of weakness. Lying there naked with someone was already its own very intimate kind of vulnerability, and one she had never allowed herself to enjoy before Bob. Indeed, she had only stayed with Bob in those first few weeks because she was sensitive to the fact that he needed reassurance; she had never intended to make it a regular thing. This…this changed things completely. It meant that he had seen her vulnerable in a way that no one else ever had before, and the intimacy of it had frightened her. She'd been intent on a bit of fun, on making sure he knew that it was strictly casual. It wasn't as if he hadn't known that she had a reputation for breaking hearts. Hell, she'd expected that a no-strings-attached fling was what he'd wanted too, that he'd use her guidance to learn more about himself and better equip himself for future relationships.

She hadn't expected him to be her last lover, or for him to change her whole perspective on romance.

Incredible by name, incredible by nature, she supposes now.

Bob reaches out to touch her hand, twining their fingers together tenderly. Helen lets him. Experience has taught her that it will be several more minutes before her body begins to recover its shape. Besides, despite what she'd always told herself, since Bob she's always enjoyed some post-coital snuggling. It's something that Bob has never made any secret about wanting, and his arms are the safest place on earth. And it's good. It's good to lay there quietly beside him, breathing in time with him, letting her defences down and knowing that Bob will never use them against her because he loves her.

He shifts closer to her now, until his face is level with hers on the pillow. She tilts her face just slightly, inviting him closer, and he takes her up on that, dipping down for a long, slow kiss that does nothing to help the watery state of her limbs. When he pulls back, just far enough that his lips still brush hers when he speaks, her toes curl all over again.

"I can't remember the last time we had a whole afternoon in bed together like this," he muses, running his finger down her spine. Helen shivers.

"It was well before the kids," she agrees. "We were too busy trying to get our lives together, and we've never known a minute's peace since Violet joined us."

"Which I definitely won't complain about. We've got some great memories. _Two_ kids with superpowers, honey!"

He's still as chuffed about that as he was on the days when Violet and Dash's powers revealed themselves. Helen wouldn't change a single thing about her kids, but she can't deny that her heart had sunk on both of those occasions, in complete contrast to Bob. She had been hoping that their kids would just be normal, for her sake, for Bob's sake, for their own. She'd hoped that maybe if their kids didn't have powers it would encourage Bob to settle down and forget the glory days, because he wouldn't be able to project himself onto them in the same way. She'd wanted it for the kids because she hadn't want them growing up with the burden of having powers that they were never able to use. She was right to want that; she only has to look at Violet, shrinking and unhappy, and Dash, who acts out in his frustrations. They're too young to be fighting against such burdens, and it's not fair to them. They never asked for any of this.

Bob, still on a different wavelength to her, only grins at her, moving to press a kiss to her brow.

"Hey, what's with the frown?" he says. "Is having an afternoon to ourselves really so bad?"

Helen makes a conscious effort to stop scrunching up her brow. It's difficult; these days, it seems to be her default expression. Worry often makes her feel older than her years. But she hasn't got anything to worry about right now. She's here with her husband, who is in a fantastic mood, Violet and Dash are safe at school, and Jack-Jack, her little treasure, the one she is so relieved for because he is _normal_ , is sound asleep down the hall, nothing troubling his little mind. So she tries to smile in turn and uses an inordinate amount of energy to force her arm to move, draping it across his torso.

"Having the afternoon to ourselves is great," she says. "I like it. We've not been this still since our honeymoon."

Bob chuckles. "Were we on different honeymoons? We both said we'd take a break from hero work for those two weeks. And neither of us did!"

Helen forces a laugh, moving to kiss him again. "Old habits died hard, I guess." She wonders now if they'd set a precedent for Bob's little white lies right from that very moment. It's a sobering thought. She's as much to blame for that as he is, if that's the case. Embarking on married life with a lie between them hardly boded well for the future.

"Honey, you're doing it again."

She blinks, coming back to herself. "What?"

"I keep losing you. Is this really that boring for you?" His tone is light, but she rushes to placate him anyway.

No, of course not," she says, stretching sluggishly to smooth her thumb over his cheekbone. This close to him, she can see the pale dusting of freckles across his nose. They're so faint that she only notices them when she studies him. It's another intimacy for her alone, and she presses her mouth softly to his again in answer to the sudden fierce contraction of her heart. That pleases him; he drags his fingers through her hair and cradles the back of her head as he pushes his tongue into her mouth. There are a few more minutes of languid kissing before she pulls back, moving to flop over his chest. Bob drapes his arm protectively over the small of her back. They're quiet again for a few more minutes, and Helen lets herself be lulled by the beating of his heart, affection coursing through her veins.

"How about you hold me for a while?" she murmurs. "I'm tired."

"Worn you out, have I?" he smirks, rolling her onto her side. She shoots him a glare but it doesn't faze him; he simply presses a kiss to the side of her neck, gives her ass a playful swat as he pulls away from her. "Let me, um, go sort myself out. I'll be back in a minute." He gestures vaguely down at himself and she bites the inside of her mouth to keep herself from smiling too hard.

She burrows down in the comforter, cool now that the sweat has started to dry, and listens to the sounds of Bob rustling about in the bathroom.

Presently, he returns to her, imposing in the doorway despite his nakedness. Helen peers over the edge of the comforter, eyeing him with sleepy interest. Yes, her husband is absolutely _gorgeous_. She is one lucky gal.

Scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Bob treads across to his side of the bed, slipping in beside her. He presses his chest to her back, draping his arm over her waist. They've not dozed naked for years, since Violet was old enough to walk, conscious of them being caught in a compromising position. It's the thing that she's missed most, being skin to skin with him, having him completely vulnerable behind her despite the steel muscles and the bulletproof frame. She moulds her body to his, and he grunts in satisfaction, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. She's not _small_ , but when she's with him like this she feels as if she's in the shadow of a giant. She breathes in the warm, masculine smell of him, the musk of sex that still lingers on his skin. She loves that smell on him; it gives her a small thrill of possessiveness that it's unique to _them_ , that she is the only person in the whole world he could ever recreate that with. It's better than any cologne.

She's tired, but it's Bob who falls asleep first, his soft, rasping snores rippling against her. She grins to herself. It seems as if she's worn him out even _more_. She'll take that as another victory. Finding his hand, she laces their fingers together, runs her thumb idly over the warm, worn metal of his wedding band. It's an unconscious habit she's picked up, but when she realises that she's doing it she can't bring herself to stop. She's just so _content_.

With that thought in mind, she closes her eyes too. After all, they've still got time.

* * *

"Honey? Hey, honey? It's time to pick the kids up from school."

Helen groans, burying her face deeper into her pillow. She'd been having such a nice nap.

"Helen, c'mon." This time Bob's words are accompanied by a gentle shake of the shoulder. "You need to get up."

Huffing, Helen wriggles over, cracking open one eye. Bob is already up and dressed. He has Jack-Jack balanced on one huge forearm.

It's a good thing she's cocooned so tightly in the bed sheets.

"Mamamama," Jack-Jack squeals, wiggling in his daddy's embrace.

"Careful there, little fella," Bob laughs, catching his squirming son with ease. Jack-Jack burbles happily.

"Turn around while I get something on," Helen instructs.

"It's nothing I haven't already seen a million times," says Bob, his voice all velvet.

"It's not you I'm thinking about."

"Jack-Jack's gonna be too young to remember anything."

"I'd still rather not test that," says Helen firmly. "Turn around."

"You're making Daddy miss out on all the fun," Bob tells his son. She hears the pout in his voice, but he obeys her. She slides out of bed, snatches up her clothes, and throws a new top on. She'll have to repair her blouse later. Hopefully they won't notice she's changed. To be fair, Dash probably won't—he doesn't stand still long enough to notice anything—but Vi is intuitive, and she'd rather avoid that silently analysing gaze.

"Right," she says. "I'll go and pick up the kids."

But Bob stops her. "Why don't I do that?"

She raises a sceptical eyebrow. "You?"

"Sure." Bob puffs out his chest. "Start as I mean to go on and all that. It'd give you time to fix your shirt." He shoots her a cheeky glance over his shoulder. "And it's been ages since I last picked them up. It'll be nice. I'll take Jack-Jack too, so you can have half an hour of peace and quiet. I know you don't get it often."

It's an offer too tempting to resist. "Okay, that'd be great. Thanks."

"No problem, honey." Now that she's suitably covered, he crosses the distance between them and dips down to kiss her. Jack-Jack squeals, reaching out to grab a fistful of her shirt. The motion makes Bob pull away from her, laughing. "Hey, buddy, you're gonna have to put up with your old dad for a little while longer. Mommy has stuff to do. But we'll have fun, right?" He tickles his tummy and Jack-Jack giggles, his stocky little legs pinwheeling. With that, he leaves her smiling in his wake.

Thankfully, it takes her no time at all to fix her shirt. She's had years to perfect it—if she'd bought Dash new clothes every time he'd torn them, they would never have had any money. She changes back, then decides that she's just got time to finish watering the lawn. It's warm outside, and she enjoys the sun on her arms as she switches the hose back on.

She's finished just in time for the kids arriving home. They're all smiling, and Bob is beaming. Helen pats down her hair, throwing down the hose.

"Hey," she says. "How was school?"

She gets the usual grunts in response; Dash races past her just a little too fast. Vi takes Jack-Jack from Bob and slouches past her. That's okay; they'll talk more at dinner.

"So, mission accomplished," says Bob when the door closes. "Easy."

"That's a first," Helen says.

"What can I say? I've got the touch."

She rolls her eyes, knotting the hosepipe up neatly and replacing it. She'd like to see him cope for a week.

But she doesn't want to pick a fight, either, not over something as small as a smug, naive comment. So she folds her arms across her chest.

"We should go inside," she says.

"We should," Bob agrees, but he's advancing on her again like a panther. She doesn't have time to move before his hands dart out to catch her around the waist, pulling her tight to him. She realises too late that her body has betrayed her, instinctively flattening itself to the lines of his. She struggles to pull back a little, to restore order, her cheeks bleeding scarlet.

"Bob," she hisses, "stop it! Someone is gonna see!"

"I can't help if you can't control yourself around me," he says nonchalantly. "I can't say I blame you, really."

She'd quite like to smack him. She settles instead for glaring at him. "Let me go."

"I want to kiss you."

"Mrs. Malloy is twitching her curtains."

"So? Let her see. It's not a crime to be madly in love with my wife, is it?"

She flushes all over again at the look in his eyes. "I told you, we can't attract too much attention, Bob. We have to make it work here."

Bob pushes an errant strand of hair away from her face with tender fingers, his touch whispering against her skin. Helen fights the urge to seek out more. Damn him. The disadvantage of him knowing her so intimately means that he has just as many weapons to use against her as she does against him.

"We _will_ make it work here," he tells her, his voice like dark chocolate, sensual and warm. "You, me, the kids…Life's looking up, honey."

Her heart swells. She wants so desperately to believe him.

He pulls her up and she ends up going, stretching _just slightly_ to even the height difference a little bit more. His smile is entirely too egotistical; he's sensing a victory. She walks her fingers up the front of his shirt and watches his Adam's apple bob. She moves forward just enough that her nose brushes against his, and she hears the sharp intake of breath. He rocks against her unconsciously, his hands sliding over her curves.

It's the opportunity she's been waiting for. With a graceful pivot that no ordinary woman could perform, she slides out of Bob's grip and bounds for the front door. It takes him a split-second to comprehend that he isn't getting his kiss after all.

"How is that fair!?" he calls after her.

"Who said anything about fair?" she fires back.

He growls and launches himself after her. Gasping, she darts down the hallway. Bob's footsteps are not far behind.

Vi's in the front room with her headphones on, attention absorbed by the magazine she's reading. Helen scurries around the swivel chair, her head start giving her quite the advantage over her husband. When she chances a glance behind her, however, it's to the sweetest sight of all. Bob has bent down to his daughter's level and he is pressing a kiss to her nose. Violet grapples for one side of her headset and pulls it away.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Nothing," he responds. "I love you."

Violet blinks, and Helen has to blink away tears of her own. She _knows_ that he loves them, of course, but he doesn't often say the words aloud, and it's a beautiful thing to behold.

"I love you too, Dad," Violet says, sounding surprised. He wraps her up in a gentle but enthusiastic embrace, kissing the top of her head.

If this is what life's going to be like from now on, Helen thinks, then she can't wait for it to begin.

* * *

Normally, Bob disappears into his den after work, leaving her to cook dinner. Helen doesn't mind; she understands that he needs some time to regroup after another gruelling day at the office and she never pries into what he's doing. There are too many reminders of a glorious past in there for her to be entirely comfortable with it, but it's his space and she wouldn't want to take that away from him. The constant goading mementos can hardly be helping him to put the past in the past, but it's not for her to say.

Tonight, however, Bob doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in retreating to his office. He follows her around the kitchen instead, nuzzling into her, stealing kisses, touching her whenever he gets the opportunity. It's usually her ass, and it thrills her every time—she has a sneaking suspicion that the activities of the afternoon might be repeated tonight, when the kids are in bed.

In the end she has to set him off chopping vegetables, which he takes to with great fervour. They're a little roughhewn, but the gusto used touches her heart. When everything's cooked, Helen calls the kids down and sets Jack-Jack up in his high chair.

"Carry the plates over," she instructs Bob as Jack-Jack burbles and flails, and she presses a quick kiss to his little head.

"He looks more like you by the day," her husband says, laying the plates down.

"You think so?"

Bob hums, moving closer to tickle their youngest son under the chin. "Without a doubt. He's all you, honey.

The words warm her. Their kids are all gorgeous, the most perfect things that she and Bob will ever build together, but she's always secretly wanted that. Violet takes after the Truax family line. Dash is the absolute spitting image of his father, so much so that it completely takes her breath away. She's always secretly wanted that, to see herself reflected in her children too, the legacy that she will one day leave behind. Jack-Jack _is_ getting the auburn hair, which delights her. She feels such fierce protectiveness for all three of her kids, loves each one equally and without thought, but Jack-Jack…he is precious. Perhaps it's because he's the baby, their last. Perhaps it's because he's the normal one. Perhaps it's because he was the child that they'd never planned, the child she'd never intended to have.

"He's gonna break hearts someday," says Bob cheerfully. "Just like you did."

"Watch it," she murmurs, brandishing the spatula at him. "You're pushing your luck."

"I'm just lucky that you never broke _my_ heart," he says, draping his arm around her shoulder. She straightens up, tilting her head to the side. "I'm very lucky indeed, Mrs. Parr."

The use of her married name takes her aback. In all the years that they _have_ been married, it's a rarity to hear it. She was _Elastigirl_ in particularly playful moments when Supers were still legal; he used her new title quite frequently in the early days of their marriage, when everything was so fresh and exciting and she got a thrill out of the mere _thought_ of being a married woman. It's petered out since then, and she's grown into the endearments of _honey_ and _sweetie_ , used so many times each day.

Before she can think of anything to say, Bob squeezes her shoulder and dips his head down to hers. This time she does not deny him, leaning into him and opening her mouth beneath his. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, pulling her even closer…

" _Ewww!_ Mom, Dad, that's so gross!"

Dash's loud voice makes her jump, and she pulls away from Bob sharply, wheeling around to find her eldest children standing behind them. Dash looks revolted; Vi is thoughtful. Helen feels her cheeks reddening all over again, and she quickly busies herself with Jack-Jack's tray. It's not that they don't kiss in front of the kids, but that was the kind of kiss reserved for private moments. Bob, by contrast, does not appear to be bothered at all.

"Hey, don't worry, I have plenty of kisses left for you too!"

And with that he grabs both of them in his arms, planting loud smacking kisses against their cheeks. And, in spite of her embarrassment, Helen can't help but smile. Dash's loud protest of, "Da-aad!" and Violet's uncharacteristic little giggle are so precious to her. This. This is what she's always wanted from family life.

Whether Bob is serious or not about turning over a new leaf, she'll always treasure this day.

Long may it continue.

* * *

And it _does_ continue.

The following two months are _fantastic_. Bob is true to his word in every way, immersing himself with the kids, who thrive off the extra attention—he insists on acting as Vi's personal shopper at the weekend, trooping round after her and carrying all of her bags, and he and Dash go out on secret 'boys' time' early in the morning before the sun has fully risen, which he refuses to disclose the details of but Dash adores. He even gets their neighbour to babysit for them for one night so they can truly spend some quality time together in a way they haven't been able to do for years, with dinner and dancing. Helen can't remember having more fun.

He's helpful around the house, and his confidence is through the roof with his rapid weight loss. He's always been sexy to her, but the trim waist and the even bigger muscles are undeniably attractive, and Helen finds that she just can't get enough of him. Which is lucky because he is _insatiable_ , sliding a surreptitious hand over her ass when the kids aren't looking, watching her with keen interest when she changes, whisking her to the bedroom at every single opportunity that he can. It's like they're having a second honeymoon, and it's glorious.

All good things come to an end, and Helen's idyllic world comes crashing down around her when she finds the telling blonde hair on the lapel of Bob's suit jacket and hears that husky, sensual voice purring down the line at her husband, her horror and terror cementing itself when she discovers the neat, discreet stitching on Bob' super suit, in the exact same place that his skin had been torn open two months ago.

"Edna," she breathes aloud. If anyone knows what's really going on it's sure to be the wily fashion designer.

It appears that Bob had been scratching an itch that goes far, far beyond his desire to be a better family man after all, and even as the very foundations of what she's built with Bob tremble around her in the wake of yet more deceit, she is determined to get to the bottom of this mess. Whether there is anything to salvage in the aftermath she does not know, and she is terrified of finding out that over fifteen years together might be wiped out in an instant. But she has to know. Has to salvage her image. She feels stupid now. Betrayed. She should have known that it was all too good to be true.

As resolved as she is ever going to be, she makes her way downstairs, snatches up the phone, takes a deep breath to galvanise herself, then dials the number. It takes an age for the phone to be answered, and her pulse thumps loudly in her head.

"I'd like to speak to Edna, please," she says, and prepares herself for whatever is to come. For better, for worse.


End file.
